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His lips tightened for a moment before he said, “Perhaps a walk on the terrace? I feel we have not conversed for a while, and dear Albert would like for us to be friends once more.”
Several other couples and matrons lined the terrace, and they would be in full view, so anything improper was unlikely to occur. But she could not bear it. How dare he approach her in this manner? As if his terrible actions should be forgotten and forgiven. Verity realized her brother believed he was fixing a quarrel that had existed merely for far too long. The dispassionate disrespect to her pain made her want to howl her agony.
She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice so only the Marquess could hear. "I would rather kiss a snake."
The marquess stiffened, his eyes snapping with anger. “Your sister is quite uncivil with an unbecoming tongue,” he drawled cuttingly to Albert.
Verity smiled. “And do not forget it, you pig!”
A flush ran along the marquess's face, and she could feel his anger. In his eyes, she saw that it was the public setting which saved her from his fury. She stepped back a few paces.
Her brother had the nerve to send her a disapproving glance, one which promised a strict private set down. “Verity—” he began warningly.
She turned around and pushed through the crowd, unable to bear being in their presence a second longer. Up ahead, she spied Duchess Carlyle and Viscountess Shaw in animated conversation. Verity would join them and prayed the marquess did not trouble her for the rest of the night. How she hated that her fingers trembled, and her heart raced. And she sensed in her dreams tonight, there would be an emergence of the nightmares.
A feeling of despair came over her, and she resiliently pushed it away. Courage…Verity, Courage.
His Verity appeared resplendent, sheathed in a full yellow gown that flattered her lush frame to its exquisite advantage. Elbow-length white gloves covered her hands with sleek suppleness, and matching yellow dancing slippers encased her elegant feet. Her dark hair was caught atop her head in a riot of curls, a brilliant sapphire necklace encircled her throat, and matching earbobs winked at her ears. She was striking in her loveliness.
Beauty like the night.
He’d only just returned from Hampshire this evening, and he had been urged to attend tonight’s ball by a driving impulse and a hope that he would see her. A rush of pleasure filled James’s heart as he peered at Verity again, and he knew at that moment he would marry her or none at all. He would resort to using all the wicked charms he was so blithely told he possessed to convince her there was more than friendship between them. He could be all that she desired and more.
James moved down the stairs at a leisurely pace, keeping track of her almost frantic progress through the crowded ballroom. He frowned, belatedly realizing her agitation. Someone followed her, and he recognized Lord Durham, heir to the dukedom of Hartington. His father had been ill for some time, and the news about town was that the man would not live out the year. Instead of Durham sitting by his father’s side, he was about town racing and gambling quite heavily on the promise he would be the duke soon.
Ice congealed inside James, as Durham watched Verity with single-minded concentration. The marquess ignored all attempts of those who tried to gain his attention, his regard only for Verity.
She chose that moment to glance up, and she flushed when she recognized James. Her entire face glowed with the prettiness of her smile, and the joy she found in seeing him. It almost became impossible to breathe, so visceral was the hunger dancing through his soul. He lifted his chin, the motion quick and discreet, indicating the exit of the ballroom leading to the hallway.
She changed her path, moving with discreet surety through the crowd. Only one person observed her, and he followed. James thrust through the crowd with little finesse, ignoring those who nodded at him and tried to capture his attention. Verity disappeared from the ballroom, and soon so did the marquess. James wanted to snarl as the crush impeded how fast he tried to move. Finally, he was in the hallway, he broke into a run, and then skidded to a stop when he came upon Verity leaning against the wall of the hall, with the marquess standing only a few feet from her, his face mottled with anger.
“How dare you try to slight me!” the man snarled.
She paled for a moment, her lower lip trembling before she lifted her chin. "If I have no wish to dance with a rapist, that is my choice.”
Disbelief shot through James as the marquess lifted his hand and stepped forward threateningly.
A throb of violence poured through him in relentless waves. "If you take another step, I will break your goddamn arms!"
The marquess spun around, allowing his arm to drop. "Maschelly," he said, tugging at his cravat. "You interrupted a private moment with a…a friend."
"You were about to hit Lady Verity," James said, shocked at the man's arrogance and calm brutality. They were in a public setting, and the man would have placed his hands on her and remained confident that there was nothing she could do about it. The one person residing in her life left to defend and protect her honor had failed to do so repeatedly.
“What I was about to do is not your concern, Maschelly,” Durham said coolly.
Within two strides he stood in front of the marquess, grabbed him by his collar, and slammed him into the wall with barely restrained fury.
“James!” Verity gasped, her eyes widening with her alarm.
"My word what is happening here?" a lady's voice gasped before she hurried away. No doubt to summon someone.
Verity hurried to him and touched his hand briefly. “Please, James. Not here. Do you want to start a scandal? May we just leave?”
He roughly pushed the marquess away from him, and all the m
an did was fix his cravat, his eyes narrowing on them.
“I wonder, is Albert aware of this…?” The marquess lifted his head between Verity and James, a sneering curl prominent on his lips.
